Please note that this blog has no "Vermin" category so I was forced to utilize the colorless, characterless category of "Blogging."
However this is not by choice.
I have no idea how the hell this happened -- but I have been besieged by...flies. Since I’m not crestfallen nor depressed at present and since I have not let the dishes go unwashed, nor the bodies of my ex-boyfriends pile up (as I prefer to leave them bleeding by the side of the road) I don’t understand my present (and I gag at the word) infestation.
I did NOT bring home a bleeding, rotting corpse of deer, buffalo, moose, steer, goat nor yak.
I am not using offal to decorate. I prefer to leave that sort of thing to Jack the Ripper, Ed Guin and Jeffrey Dahmer. The Martha Stewarts of Corpse & Abattoir Decor.
I opine -- I may have been pitched into The Amityville Horror cosmos.
A few weeks ago, as I was in bed moaning in pain (I’m having a hysterectomy in June so no worries) -- I noticed a faint buzzing noise. I pulled the covers up over my head but I could STILL hear it! I finally pulled my bedroom curtains aside to discover...a lone bee. I have no idea how he/she gained access but I pulled out my trusty can of Raid and ended his/her confusion and hive-separation anxiety with a quick burst of Mercy-from-a-Can.
Note: I know bees have been dying by the millions but the little fucker was in my bedroom...IN MY ROOM!!! Where I sleep --and where my little dog plays with her toys.
I don’t kill them when I encounter them outside...I just karate kick them as I’ve seen my courageous friend Christina do. She’s a venerable Hong Kong Phooey when it comes to drop-kicking flying insects.
Sometime late last week I DID notice, when I got home from work that a fly did enter my domicile. I faintly remember thinking, "I’ll get the little fucker later when he/she begins buzzing around a light bulb for a luminescence fix."
But those that know me personally know that I have a shortbus-riding puppy named "Claudine" who smokes meth all day when I’m at work and tends to have her daily meth-induced fit when I walk in the door so my attention was averted immediately upon my arrival...and the fly...momentarily forgotten. My kitchen faces the dying sun in the East (in the evenings) so the last vestiges of daylight fade as the darkness descends.
This past Friday, I settled in for a relaxing weekend but before the sun had even set -- I noticed an abundance of flies on my kitchen window screen. I grabbed my Can of Death (as flies do not deserve mercy) and began my murder spree. I killed them all and swept their little bodies up and discarded them.
End of story...or so I thought.
This morning I appeared to be "fly-free" and I took out the trash just to insure my weekend euphoria.
But at about 2pm, I went to my computer and noticed double the amount of flies on the kitchen screen -- so thus began another killing orgy. I got about 30 little dead bodies, and swept them up (again) and tossed them in the outside trash. But hours later...another 40 soldiers showed up in a troop surge! What the fuck?! There was NO trash in my apartment at all at this point! Everything that could have bred flies or their wiggly little scion was gone!
I didn’t leave floating turds on Spring break partying in my toilet!!!
So, I killed the next generation. I did this two more times today and still there are the few lone individuals who don’t know the war is lost and over...flying around trying to find fallen comrades or the last of the Vietnamese-fly prostitutes. They apparently don’t hear the faint buzzing of their dying compatriots nor heed the felled --trying to end their agonizing death throes by bash their brains out against window sills, computer screens, TV screens, light bulbs and glass panes.
I have checked behind the trashcan to make sure I didn’t accidentally miss the can and discard an egg yolk on the floor or carpet. I’ve looked everywhere for hidden puppy turds...(and goat carcasses.) Claudine hides them herself. I’ve never had a dog so "anal" that instead of scratching on the door...prefers "turd-hide-and-go-seek!"
Since nightfall, I have sent at least another 10 confused and slow-flying flies to meet their Lord of the Flies and buried them at the outside Arlington National Cemetery.
Could the one lone fly terrorist have caused this...carnage?
It’s 12:39am...and the forest is quiet...finally.
I’ll report back if the Congs make another assault.
Vaya Sin Moscas Mi Amigos...Sin Moscas.
9:00am: Morning update: So far this morning four lone soldiers attacked and were brought down by heavy sniper fire.
I shall be a vigilant sentry against villainy on this beautiful Sunday morning.
12:32pm: The body count is now up to 8...oh shit! Another one. Must reload...Charlie is relentless.
4/9 -- Update: Peace is restored...finally
For the single person, there is no turkey and all the trimmings. Christmas dinner is heating some Campbell's Soup for One and eating chewing gum for dessert.
No wonder suicides go up around the holidays.
Merry Fuckin' Christmas bitches!
Have a Holly Jolly Christmas
By Burl Ives
Release date: 01 June, 1995